The letter by Mr. Petrovic does not realy deserves an answer, to
beginwith. Having that in mind, the following lines should not be treated
as aresponse to his brief and clearly disturbed line of thought, but
rather asan expression of my amasement with the state of mind that is able
to createsuch thoughts. Dear God, what turns dreams into nonsense?Even the strongest argument loses its charm and power when presented
in apoorly conceptualised manner. When there is no argument at all,
let alone aclear line of thought, one is puzzled by the reasons that lay behind
one'swriting.

It is good that Mr. Petrovic is familiar with so many details from
the areaof general history of the ancient world. I am happy for him. However,
I ama bit puzzled by the lack of clarity in his, othervise passionate
letter.Passionate but out of place, I have to say. His imagination is,
at times,running wild. As an imagination of an explorer, it creates its
own mentallandscapes that are far removed from reality. Reality is not his
friend.

I am particularly grateful for his distinction between Avars and
Mongols.If it hasn't for his scientific depth and the sharp eye, I would
havestayed shielded from this body of knowledge. It was enlightening
andinspiring. It was also most enlightening that Mr. Petrovic finaly
clearedcenturies old debate about Khazars and their origin. He said it
all.

But, the revelation that truly struck the cord was the one about
the racialdifference between Serbs and Croats. Well done, my boy! Vasilije
Kresticshould be proud of you. He is of the same opinion and the two of
you shouldget together and work on his theory about Croats as genocidal nation.

I will disregard the ignorance, blind hate and the lack of style
that is soobvious in this letter and will only express my amazement in respect
to thelast paragraph of Mr. Petrovic's letter. He should decide who he
is interms of racial, ethnic, religious and national identity. It is
ratherdifficult and could have a devastating effect on one's mental
health, totry and be two things at the time. This reminded me of the phenomenon
of'Tobelia' (Ostanica) - a girl who decides to become a man and dresses
asone, performing the duties that were traditionaly those of
men.

At the end I am not absolutely certain who Mr. Petrovic is: a Serb
or aMontenegrin; an Avar or a Kharaz; a sleeping beauty who mumbles
in herdream, or an individual who needs the professional help.